Dead if You Don’t

63

Sunday 13 August

08.00–09.00

At a few minutes before 8.30 a.m., Roy Grace stood in the shower adjoining the Intel suite, then shaved and put on the fresh boxers and shirt he always kept in the office for such situations, swallowed a tepid coffee and grabbed a muffin from a tray someone had brought in.

He ate it while he strode across the Police HQ campus, in a strong, warm breeze. After a long night and just two hours of sleep he was feeling fractious and in a combative mood, ready for whatever crap Cassian Pewe might throw at him.

As he walked down the steep hill, towards the rear of the Queen Anne house where the brass had their offices, he saw a van emblazoned with the name VALETPRO. A man was busy polishing an immaculate, old-model convertible Jaguar XJS.

‘Nice shine!’ Grace said.

‘Thanks, black’s a difficult one.’ The man fished out a card and a product sampler. ‘If you need your car doing anytime, mate, we’re in the area.’

‘Whose car is this, by the way?’

‘Mr Pewe’s.’

‘Ah, right. That figures.’ He went into the building.

The Assistant Chief Constable’s assistant showed him in to the almost absurdly grand office, with its magnificent view out across Lewes and the South Downs. The one thing that put a smile on Grace’s face was the knowledge that with space on the HQ campus getting tighter and tighter, partly thanks to the rehousing of the East Sussex Fire and Rescue team here, soon Pewe might be having to share this with the other top brass.

As usual, the ACC sat behind his huge, neat desk in his crisp white shirt bearing the epaulettes with the gold ACC crescent, his fair hair, like the rest of him, immaculate. Without rising, he said in his voice that sounded snide even on the rare occasions when he was being pleasant, ‘Good morning, Roy, tea or coffee?’

‘Coffee, please, as strong as possible.’

Pewe barked a command into his intercom, then looked at him, leaving him standing. ‘Long night?’

‘You could say that.’

‘You are the Head of Major Crime for this county, Roy. In the last twenty-four hours, we’ve had a bomb threat at the Amex — which you responded to like a total madman, breaking every police regulation we have for dealing with such situations. A teenager kidnapped. Dismembered human remains found at Shoreham Harbour — which are still in the process of being recovered — and now the sudden death in hospital of the digger operator who found them. And on top of that a young woman dead at Gatwick Airport. What on earth is happening? Has the Surrey and Sussex Major Crime Team totally lost the plot?’

‘Hang on a minute, you can hardly hold me and my team personally responsible for all these incidents.’ Grace continued, facetiously, ‘I haven’t killed or dismembered anyone, to the best of my knowledge,’ although he thought at this very moment he would like to. More calmly than he felt, and still uninvited to sit, he gave an account of all that he was aware of.

Pewe listened pensively, making the occasional note with a fountain pen. When he had finished, the ACC looked down at his notes, then back up at him.

‘You are aware, are you not, of the current delicate situation with the Albanian community in our city? Of all the hard work that Inspector Boniface and PC Denero are putting in, trying to build bridges with them?’

‘Very aware, sir.’

‘The optics aren’t good. So, who’s driving the bus?’

‘Bus, sir?’

Pewe shook his head, looking angry. ‘What you need to understand, Roy, is that we need to integrate multiple initiatives into a systems-level approach, OK?’

Grace stared at him blankly. He had no idea what his boss was talking about. The ACC had recently attended a management course at the police training college. He seemed to have taken away from it a load of gobbledygook, in Grace’s view, and not much else. With each recent meeting with him, Pewe seemed to be growing increasingly incoherent.

‘Have you considered a thought shower, Roy?’

‘A thought shower?’

Pewe banged his fist on his desk. ‘Do I need to spell everything out? Are you in the twenty-first century or the Middle Ages? A thought shower. Getting your whole team together and inviting their blue-sky views.’

‘I do that at every briefing, actually, and always have. I just don’t call it that name.’

‘Oh, so what do you call it?’

‘Just a briefing, sir,’ Grace replied, calmly.

‘Just a briefing?’ Pewe echoed. ‘Are you sure it’s not all getting lost in the shuffle? I’m worried that you’re not using your resources to the full, that you’re trying to solve all this on your own. You do understand the aggregation of marginal gains, don’t you, Roy?’

Pewe’s PA brought in his coffee. Grace took the cup, gratefully, blew on it and sipped. ‘I’m not entirely sure I do.’

‘It’s simple, Roy. There is no “I” in the word “team”.’

But there is one in obnoxious bastard, thought Grace, privately.

‘You think I’m a bit of a shit, don’t you, Roy?’

Grace stayed silent.

‘I just like to know where you and I stand. You see, a friend will always ultimately betray you, but an enemy stays the same.’

‘Meaning exactly what, sir?’

‘No pretence between us. You and I are both in the same war against criminals. I don’t like you and you don’t like me. I’m fine with that, it cuts out the bullshit and saves time. Two years ago, you got me transferred, and I’ve never forgotten that. You did something incredibly stupid yesterday, with that bomb. You broke all the rules about procedure and you know it. I’m considering having you suspended for risking your life, needlessly, and endangering the lives of others.’

‘I took a calculated risk, sir, and I’d be happy to go through my reasons. At least on this occasion I did have valid reasons.’

‘And there are other occasions when you didn’t?’ Pewe asked.

‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten, sir, eighteen months ago you were in a car that went over the edge of Beachy Head, with a sheer 500-foot drop beneath you. The car was hanging by a thread. I put my life in danger by climbing over the edge and helping to pull you out. If I hadn’t, you would be dead. So, it was OK to put my life on the line to save you, but not OK to put it on the line to save, potentially, hundreds of lives in the Amex? Is that going to look good — sir?’

For once, Pewe had no response.